An Evening Gala
by EveryPennyCounts
Summary: A collection of stories about the goings on of some Evening Galas for the nations. (oneshots)


Drinks being served, dancers passing from partner to partner, an Italian fuming childishly on the sidelines, and a Prussian trying to coerce a waltz out of his best frenemy.  
This masquerade gala occurs every year for the nations, and while a few always dread it, its a highly anticipated event by most. What immortal being constantly bombarded with near-meaningless work wouldn't want a night to hide behind a mask and act like a human?  
Lovino Vargas, better known as Italy Romano, wanted to be anywhere but there. He danced yes, but after a few songs his partners would move on. He was a charming person, certainly, but once a bit had passed it was customary to find a new partner. Romano quickly ran out of fellow dancers- both ones that he was willing to dance with and ones that were willing to dance with him alike. So, he found himself lounging along the wall and wishing greatly that certain other nations would allow him a(nother) dance.  
Gilbert Beilschmidt, the personification of Prussia, on the other hand, seemed positively giddy at the opportunity to attend (he almost didn't make the cut, not being a true nation and all,) and he took every chance to bother his "friends" Elizaveta (Hungary) and Roderich (Austria) for dances. Not many nations found a way out of his imminent requesting, though that didn't stop them from trying to hide in the throng of bosses that choked the ballroom or resorting to simply denying him outright. Needless to say, Prussia was having the time of his life. Well, at least he seemed to be.  
It didn't take long for the Prussian to take notice of the lonely-looking Italian, but he decided to wait to ask him; he still hadn't gotten a dance out of a stubborn Hungarian that never failed to make his stomach seize up and face go pink, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it.  
Meanwhile, the Italian was watching someone move across the dance floor. He wasn't graceful by any account, but he danced with a happy radiance that was irresistible. Romano knew that joyful aura maybe even better than anyone else in the room, and that radiance always made butterflies tickle his stomach and his face go red as a tom- _No_ , he wasn't going to say it. But, Romano knew the dancing figure would never lay his eyes on him, and if he did ask the Italian for a dance, it would be because he saw Romano as his family and he wanted him to enjoy himself. That bundle of sunshine would never realize that he was the reason Romano was rarely happy.  
And it was certainly not one of those rare moments. There was too much of what he could never have suffocating the air, and he felt like he might drown in it. Romano pulled himself off the wall and straitened his vest. He couldn't stay in here much longer or he would start to tear his hair out. Well, maybe that's an over exaggeration. Regardless, he couldn't stand all the jubilant smiles ricocheting of the walls, so he deserted the ballroom- off to some balcony where he could gather cool, quiet air. Cold enough to sooth his burning cheeks, hopefully.  
Unknown to him, Prussia had caught wind of his leave. He had seen him walk right out the door while the others were wrapped up in song and dance. The Prussian had felt isolated from this joy, no matter how big his smile may be. Nobody wanted to mingle with a deceased nation. It was like he was contagious. This was supposed to be the night where they weren't nations anymore, anyway. Weren't they supposed to be playing human? But, maybe not. Maybe everyone else really was just playing and trying to seem happy and wishing for the night to end so they could go home. But he looked over at Elizaveta who was arm-in-arm with Roderich. They were grinning like happiness had slapped them in the face. It was just him- just Prussia- who wasn't feeling the joy. So, it was when he had pulled back and watched the others, feigning a smile when people looked at him, that he saw the Italian turn-tail and escape the suffocating jubilee. So it wasn't just him, but his company was hardly unexpected. Was that Italian _ever_ happy?  
Prussia found himself following Romano, thinking maybe he could sneak up and scare him- that would lift his spirits, and maybe it would cause Romano to get angry- a good screaming usually made him feel a little better too. It helped him get all his insecurities out there without seeming weak. Who wants to seem weak?  
Romano certainly didn't; that much was obvious in how defensive he got at _everything_. Even at being called cute, and the Prussian had to admit, he was pretty cute.  
A few turns in that maze of a mansion led them so far away that they could barely hear the music, and judging by how many open balconies they had passed, that was exactly Romano's intention. He finally chose a balcony: it wasn't even prepared for public use. He pushed open the door and slid it half-closed behind him. Prussia moved stealthily to the door and peaked through. He hoped his shock-white hair didn't give him away.

* * *

Prussia didn't know what he expected, but the last thing he would predict was Romano to be shedding quiet tears while muttering to himself in Italian. Prussia had seen him cry before- all nations cry more than they would like to admit- but he thought he might be more akin to cursing out the sky and fate itself than looking so frail and tired- fiddling aimlessly with his masquerade mask in his hands. The Prussian had followed the Italian to get into a good, heated argument, not to empathize.  
But there he was, frozen as he watched a man fall apart over the elegantly carved railing. It was almost scary how easily he could imagine himself standing there instead.  
Needless to say, the Prussian was at a complete loss at what to do. Should he leave him there? Talk to him? Give him a hug? No, no definitely not that last one, but he knew he had to do _something_.  
And then the scare that was going to be given to Romano was instead shot through Prussia when the former jerked upright, put on his mask, and yelled, "You know what?! _Screw him!_ I don't need him or his stupid optimism and huge smile or sparkling eyes or-" he stopped himself with a strangled sob and took a deep, calming breath.  
"No. And I don't need a dance from him either, because I can dance by my-freaking-self!"  
And dance he did as he began to make complicated maneuvers to the distant music with an invisible partner- truly the only person that could be on par with him. Prussia wanted to say that he looked silly, dancing there by himself, but he didn't. He looked confident and suave and like he ruled the world, or at least he did until he tripped over thin air and stumbled to a halt. He looked angry for a moment- like he really would begin cursing out the sky and fate itself, but the emotion melted through his fingers. He began again.  
It was obvious that he really loved dancing... and that he really wanted to dance with someone.  
The Prussian pulled himself out of his shocked stupor and stood slowly, watching the elegant dance unfolding before him. He quickly glanced down to make sure all his clothes were in the proper order, and then he stopped because why should he care? He always looks awesome, anyway. Prussia crept forward and pushed the door open, successfully giving the Italian the scare meant for him in the first place.  
"What the- The crap are you doing out here you freaking creep!?"  
"I- uh-" Prussia stuttered when he realized he had no plan. "You... uh... you're really good at dancing..." _Smooth_. A blush graced both their faces at that embarrassing blunder. This wasn't going in the direction that the Prussian hoped it would have.  
"Just- just what the frick do you want?"  
Silence.  
"Uh... you looked lonely?"  
Romano deflated slightly at these words, his body language betraying the truth.  
"Well, I'm not. I was fine. So go away already, stalker," he added for effect with a flourish of newfound malice.  
Prussia straightened his back in an attempt to salvage the situation. An idea had popped into his head.  
"Nope! You're one of the few nations that have yet to be blessed with a dance from me, so shall we, Lovino?" He bowed dramatically and offered his hand. The Italian hesitated, staring at the outstretched hand and the red eyes glinting from behind the mask.  
"What the heck," he muttered.  
And he took his hand and pulled him close to begin dancing for a third time. They moved slowly to the beat of a waltz.  
"Hey."  
Lovino glanced up warily, as if he was still unsure what he was doing here.  
"What was that dance you were doing earlier?"  
Lovino snorted dryly. "The tango, what else? You some sort of idiot?"  
"Ah, yes. I knew that."  
"Sure you did."  
"I bet I can do it better than you."  
Lovino gave him a look that suggested he had just said the most stupid thing in the world.  
"I hope you're kidding."  
Prussia gave his most confident smile.  
"Nope! Give it all you've got, Vino!"  
Lovino scowled at him for a second.  
"Right, no nicknames. Sorry." The Prussian said without any intention to stop using the nickname. Vino was certainly cute enough to fit him.  
Lovino groaned and assumed the correct position- the guy's position.  
"You ready then, _Gil_?"  
Gilbert grinned. "Yep!"  
He was not ready. It only took one step for him to realize how outmatched he was. Sure, he knew the basic steps, but in terms of grace and coordination, there was no way he could keep up, so he stumbled after Lovino's quick feet for a few motions before taking matters into his own hands. He pulled on his partner's hands, causing him to stumble out of pattern and then twirled him around, and thus began his own little dance, which, in Gilbert's opinion, was much more fun than the tango.  
After the spin, Lovino pulled Gilbert back and gave him a complicated twirl, and back and forth they went. They jumped and spun and danced their way all across the balcony, laughter bubbling up their throats, because why would they want to be in that stuffy, suffocating room of isolating smiles when they could be out in the chilly air feeling alone together?  
Lovino tried a complex move and Gilbert thought just maybe he could do it too and it landed both of them on the ground. After a silent moment where they assessed the damage, they bust out laughing. Gil's wasn't his normal laugh specifically tailored to annoy people but instead one that found the situation truly hilarious, and Vino's wasn't his sarcastic, mocking one but the one that so few people ever saw which was genuinely happy to be out and in the air.  
"You're- so- so freaking bad at- dancing!" Vino choked out in between laughs.  
"Ha! I know, I just wanted to dance with you, really!"  
Lovino shot him an incredulous look, but the humor remained in his eyes.  
"Nah, man! You have to believe me! You're really good and I wanted to dance!"  
He rolled his eyes. "Alright, whatever."  
They didn't speak after that, content to sit with the muffled sounds of that distant happiness.  
Then Lovino broke the silence. "This was way more fun than anything in that stupid ballroom."  
Gilbert looked over at his partner, surprised, and even through the darkness he could see his face ablaze.  
"So... so thanks," he finished in a quiet voice.  
Gilbert meanwhile looked like a puppy that had just been offered a treat.  
"Yeah! You're actually pretty awesome, you know." Lovino made a disbelieving sound, all remains of embarrassment brushed away by this fervent display of happiness. "We should hang out more often! Gimme your arm I'll write down my phone number." He procured a marker from his pocket.  
Vino gave him an odd look but rolled up his sleeve anyway. "Why in the world do you have a marker with you? We're at a gala not a preschool."  
Gil puffed up his chest as if he were incredibly proud of himself. "Well, you know there are gonna be people passed out drunk."  
Lovino's eyes lit up. "Oh, we so have to deface some bosses."  
"Heck yeah, we do!"


End file.
